Epilogue #2
Rangi’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle despite the strength I know those hands possess.
When our lips meet, the gathered crowd erupts in cheers and traditional drumming begins again, but I barely notice.
In this moment, there is only us—the culmination of a journey that began years ago in mountain terrain and has led us to this sacred place.
When we part, Rangi’s smile contains all the warmth of summer sun. “Husband,” he says, testing the word.
“Husband,” I echo, finding it fits perfectly.
We turn to face the gathering, hands still linked, and begin the traditional circle around the sacred space, accepting blessings and good wishes from all sides.
Kit and Jonathan beam from their place of honour, the royal children now corralled by nursemaids who struggle to keep them from disrupting the solemn moment.
Charlotte and Roy offer congratulatory embraces, their own partnership a reminder of how the royal family has evolved in recent years.
Elder Kiri and Matua Hemi present us with gifts—herbs for protection, woven symbols of prosperity, ancient stones from tribal lands to place in our home.
My mother steps forward with happy tears in her eyes to present a gift of her own—my father’s ceremonial dagger, traditionally passed to the royal heir but now being given to us as a symbol of her blessing.
“He would have been proud,” she tells me quietly. “Of both of you.”
The words mean more than she can know.
Prime Minister Beesley—who surprised everyone by becoming a surprisingly staunch ally after the Future of Astipia Act proved wildly popular—offers formal congratulations on behalf of the government.
The tribal council presents a unified blessing, their formal acceptance of our union carrying significant political and cultural weight.
As the ceremony transitions to celebration, I find myself momentarily overwhelmed by the journey that has brought us here—from cautious diplomatic exchanges to secret garden meetings, from hesitant acknowledgment of feelings to this public declaration.
The path hasn’t been straight or simple, but each step has led us exactly where we needed to be.
“Overwhelmed?” Rangi asks quietly, noticing my momentary distraction.
“A bit,” I admit. “In the best possible way.”
His hand tightens around mine. “We can slip away for a moment if you need space.”
The offer—so typical of him—warms me. “No,” I assure him. “I want to be exactly here, exactly now.”
His smile deepens. “Good. Because I’ve waited quite long enough to call you husband.”
The celebration continues into evening, tribal dances giving way to revelry, formal toasts alternating with casual laughter. The children, overtired and overexcited, are eventually whisked away to their nursery, but not before Eleanor manages to smear icing across several dignitaries.
“Your family,” Rangi observes with amusement as we watch the chaos from our place of honour, “is absolutely terrifying.”
“Our family now,” I correct, enjoying the way the words taste. “For better or worse.”
“Definitely both,” he agrees, his arm sliding around my waist in a gesture that still carries a thrill of public acknowledgment. After so long maintaining careful distance, the ability to simply touch, to be seen together as partners, remains a precious novelty.
As night falls, lanterns are lit around the Murmuranay, turning the grove into a fairyland of golden light. Fires are built high, their flames reaching toward stars that begin to appear in the darkening sky.
Above us, the constellation of the warrior lovers shines bright—Ahkenti and Mirakan, forever circling each other among the stars. I find myself searching for them, remembering Elder Kiri’s words so many months ago.
And so they would find each other again and again, in this life and every other.
“What are you thinking?” Rangi asks, his voice close to my ear.
I point upward. “About stars and stories. About finding and being found.”
He follows my gaze, his expression softening with recognition. “Souls that are meant to be together cannot be kept apart,” he quotes. “Not by custom, not by duty, not by fear.”
“Not even by my stubborn insistence on protocol,” I add wryly.
His laugh is warm against my skin. “That was a challenge, I admit. But worth overcoming.”
“Was it?” I ask, suddenly needing to hear his certainty.
Rangi turns me to face him fully, his hands framing my face with gentle possession. In his eyes, I see the same warrior I first met in the mountains—direct, honest, uncompromising in his truth.
“Leo,” he says simply, “you are worth everything. The waiting, the challenges, the occasional royal sister bursting in at inopportune moments.” His thumbs brush my cheekbones, careful of the ceremonial markings. “I would climb the same mountain a thousand times to reach this moment with you.”
Any response I might make is interrupted by the sudden crescendo of drums announcing the final part of the night—our departure.
Kit approaches, her expression warm as she embraces first me, then Rangi. “It’s time,” she says.
With goodbyes and final blessings from the gathered guests, we slip away into the night.
Rangi’s hand is warm in mine as we walk the moonlit path, the sounds of celebration fading behind us as we move into the peaceful silence of the forest. Above us, the stars continue their eternal dance, watching over us as they have watched over countless unions before ours.
Two paths, once separate, now joined. Two traditions, once distinct, now interwoven. Two warriors, finding in each other the home they never knew they sought.
One journey, just beginning.
Ours.
Forever.
Thank you so much for reading Royal Salute! I hope you fell in love with Rangi and Leo.